


and they’ll only remember the tragedies

by crunch_the_munch



Series: is there any recovery for me? [1]
Category: Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Panic Attacks, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rape Recovery, Rape/Non-con Elements, Recovery, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Will not be graphically described, sensitive topics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-17
Updated: 2020-02-05
Packaged: 2020-03-06 16:21:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18854656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crunch_the_munch/pseuds/crunch_the_munch
Summary: Peter just really wants a hug right now, but he doesn’t now how he’d react if he even got one.There is mentioned rape/non-con in this story.





	1. they bury me in every nightmare

The hardest thing is the nightmares. 

 

Waking up in the middle of the night, your mind can’t comprehend that it isn’t real, that you aren’t really still there.

 

Peter woke up for the 5th time in a row that night, completely frozen. Stuck somewhere he really wasn’t.

 

It had been three weeks since it happened.

 

Not that he’d tell you that, he didn’t really want to tell anyone about it. He was still completely avoiding the r-word. Somehow acknowledging it would make it more real.

 

He’d decided that his best course of action would be to just avoid it at all costs, not that it worked. There’s only so much avoiding you can do.

 

He hadn’t slept much, he stayed up looking at his phone until the memories disappeared somewhere deep in his mind. He couldn’t do much but run now.

 

If it’d happened to anyone else Peter would’ve done everything in his power to get them help, to tell them it wasn’t their fault.

 

But Peter just felt— icky. He felt embarrassed and disgusting. He felt like he’d rather die than talk about it. 

 

He knew it’d be another long night.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Peter had been taking longer patrols.

 

And yeah maybe it helped keep him from sleeping. But what if there was someone out there? Someone he could save from the nightmares.

 

The only escape he’d found was not sleeping or sleeping as little as possible. Setting alarms for thirty minutes when he did, not giving the nightmares time to set in. It’s hard to escape something you’re constantly living.

 

It wasn’t late, it was actually only about 3 pm on a Saturday, but Peter was exhausted. He’d gotten an hour of sleep in the last 56 hours.

 

He had to stay awake though. Bad things happen when you fall asleep.

 

His fighting was sloppy but he didn’t particularly care, as long as he kept people safe. As long as he stayed awake.

 

God, he was tired.

 

Not the tired you get from actually being tired. That seems to fade slowly the more you’re awake. The same way you eventually stop feeling hungry when you don’t eat.

 

He was the bone-deep kind of tired. The kind you couldn’t sleep off. It’s the tired that makes you want to lay down until the the grass covers you.

 

Not to rest, but because there’s a deep-longing to return to the earth. To find out what happens when you just stop.

 

Peter was pretty sure that if he were to get stabbed he’d lay down and count the seconds it takes to bleed out.

 

Not to say he wanted to die, but that he couldn’t bring himself to get help. That he’d rather lay there than summon the energy.

 

And yeah, he knew he should tell someone. That he needed to. He could fill the words built up inside of him, drowning him. He wasn’t sure that if he started if it’d ever stop. He could get help, he could watch the water spill out.

 

But how do you tell someone when you’re not entirely sure you’ve accepted it yourself?

 

He thinks that maybe he’d fall asleep and never wake up. You’re only ever afraid of nightmares when you wake up.

 

Again that isn’t to say he wanted to die. It may not seem like there’s much of a difference but it’s there. It’s the way someone can swallow flames but not catch fire. The way someone can hold their head underwater but not drown. A mere imitation of the truth.

 

Maybe if he’s asleep forever the nightmares will eventually get a happy ending.

 


	2. i’m the only ghost that haunts me

You’ll crash every time. You can only avoid sleep for so long. It doesn’t matter if you’re tired or not.

 

Peter had gone 73 hours and thought he was going crazy. He couldn’t focus on anything. It felt like everything was happening around him and he was there, a constant state of confusion.

 

Avoiding it doesn’t do much help when the nightmares happen when you’re awake too. Hallucinations usually start sometime after 24 hours. Peter’s started at 47.

 

Peter knew logically that hallucinating would feel horrible but part of him expected it almost to be like how it’s shown in kids movies. With talking animals, and dancing, and fun. But this— this was awful.

 

He didn’t know if it was normal to hallucinate your own voice but it was jarring. Hearing words you can’t stop yourself from saying.

 

He remembered saying them, he remembered it all. Way more than he’d like to.

 

Peter was pretty sure that everywhere he’d seen that hallucinations weren’t supposed to be things that really happened. It left him feeling like he was experiencing the worst flashback ever.

 

He only got auditory hallucinations and he figured that was for the best. He didn’t know how he’d react if he had to relive it all.

 

He heard it all. The screaming, the begging.  _His_ __voice. But that wasn’t the worst part. The whole time it was this out of order mess of events and phrases.

 

In the background he could always hear this awful sobbing. It sounded like someone grieving. He knew logically that it was his own, knew when it came. Knew how he sobbed until he felt like he was drowning on that floor after it happened.

 

Another part of him couldn’t accept that. Wanted to find the source of the crying and hug them until they couldn’t breathe.

 

Peter just really wants a hug, but he isn’t sure how he’d react if he got one. He wanted someone to hold him close and never let go but at the same time he wanted nobody to ever touch him again.

 

He just wanted that awful sobbing to stop. Everything else faded and that’s all he could hear. He wasn’t sure that he was just imagining it anymore either. He could feel the tears.

 

He pushed the pillow against his ears and could hear it clearer than ever. Loud and wailing. He curled into himself begging it to stop. He wasn’t sure if he meant the crying or something else that he wasn’t really quite ready to address.

 

He didn’t feel himself drifting off. He woke up hours later, still exhausted. He definitely hasn’t gotten enough sleep. What he got was the weird kind of sleep where you aren’t sure if you slept at all. Where it seems like you could’ve laid there all night just the same. 

 

It felt worse than if he hadn’t slept at all. But maybe it was an accomplishment. It was the first time he had slept without nightmares. It seemed even his Parker luck wanted to give him a break. 

 

He knew better than to chance it twice though. So he splashed cold water on his face and went about getting ready.

 

School was good, normal. It was something he was used to. Something that wouldn’t change. And he could work with that.

 

He could actually enjoy going now, surrounding himself with people he knew. It’s harder to remember when you surround yourself with distractions.

 

It was all good until health class came around and even that started out okay. The teacher came in and said hello. Then he went off on a tangent about how they were going to talk about something serious. The whole “I expect you to act like adults” talk. 

 

Peter was fine until he said it. The r-word. His breath hitched and he felt his heart stutter. God, why did he have to say that word. 

 

And he just kept talking about it. Oh God, he couldn’t breathe. He needed to gets out of there. He shoved his arm up, “Can I go to the bathroom?” He bolted as soon as he got a nod. 

 

He stood at the bathroom sink, water pouring as he scrubbed at his skin. He could feel it all. Every little touch and he just felt so dirty. It wouldn’t stop. He scratched at his arms until they bled, he was still so dirty. 

 

He splashed water onto his face and turned the sink off. He looked up into the mirror and fell back. That couldn’t be him. He looked worse that the night it happened. 

 

He must’ve tried to wipe his face with his arms at some point because there was blood there too. The bags under his eyes were darker than he’d ever seen anybody’s be. He cheeks were sunken in. And he just looked so empty.

 

It was him, of course it was him. But it wasn’t. It sounded so damn cliché. He wasn’t the same person he remembered.

 

Peter Parker was a nerdy nobody with a hero complex and a death wish. The person he saw was so small. They looked so much like a kid and so much like an adult at the same time

 

The physical changes weren’t even the biggest part. He wasn’t the same person he was that night. Peter Parker rambled, and laughed, and lived.

 

This Peter was a ghost. Old Peter would sleep and be happy. God, he just wanted to be happy. He wanted to stop haunting himself. He can’t escape it because he’s his own damn monster. 

 

He can feel the memories better than he can feel his own pulse with his fingers against his neck. It was gonna kill him, he was sure of it. He didn’t remember any emotions but scared and tired.

 

And he was so fucking scared. All the time. Of the man who caused all of this, of that person staring back at him, of himself. He felt like every second was a second closer to an anxiety attack. Hell, he was a walking anxiety attack.

 

He thinks it’ll be the fear that kills him. Fear makes you do stupid shit. Like hurt somebody, or do drugs, or stare off suicide bridge. He wasn’t sure what he was closer to.

 

God, he needed help.


	3. and with you maybe i’ll find peace

Peter doesn’t remember dialing. Rationally, he knows that he must have. Part of him wonders if the ghosts that haunt him have taken pity.

 

“Mr. Stark?” He rasps into the phone. He pauses. He couldn't recognize that voice, and he knows that should scare him. But it doesn't. He can't bring himself to be scared of anything but the man who did this to him.

 

“Peter, are you okay?” he hears Tony say. With his hearing, he's able to make out the laughter of the Avengers in the background and he almost hangs up. ”Kid, what's wrong?”

 

 ”Need you,” he whispers, unsure if it was audible.

 

But then Tony responds, ”Alright. Where are you?”

 

 “Bathroom.”

 

“At school?”

 

Peter nods but remembers that Tony can’t see him and mumbles a yes.

 

”I’ll be right there.”

 

But then the call ends and he’s all alone again. He's surprised when he feels the tears coming. He didn't think he could cry anymore.

 

But he doesn't cry. He weeps. This awful sound. It sounds like mourning. He wonders if it's possible to grieve yourself.

 

He sits there, sobbing. Curled into a ball in the corner of the bathroom. 

 

Until the door opens. He really didn't want to have to deal with anyone. But then through his blurry vision, he sees Tony Stark and he absolutely wails. 

 

”Peter?” He feels his hair being brushed out of his face. And arms being wrapped around him. ”Peter, I'm gonna carry you out of here. I'll have somebody deal with the school later. Is that okay?” He nods shakily.

 

He feels himself being sat in the backseat of a car, Tony never leaving his side. He feels like he’s not really in his own body. Like he’s an outsider in his own life.

 

“Kid, talk to me. What’s going on?”

 

“I don’t think I can.”

 

”You know that you can tell me anything.”

 

And Tony is being so gentle and kind that he lets himself believe that he is safe. That he can be safe. He lets the water drain out. Spilling from his lips. ”I’m so scared all the time. I don’t think I can do this anymore.”

 

Tony never interrupts him. And Peter tells him everything. The way the concrete felt against his bare skin, the way Skip’s heartbeat sounded, about how he could feel the world stop spinning.

 

When he finished, the car was parked and he felt his chains snap. He wasn't crying anymore, but Tony was.

 

”I’m so sorry, Peter. I’m so sorry,” he repeated like a melody.

 

Tony opened the door and lifted him up. Peter was grateful because he knew his legs weren't ready yet.

 

”Do you want to go to your room for now?” Peter nodded against his chest.”

 

He felt himself hit the mattress and blankets being pulled over him. He drifted into the most peaceful sleep he’d had in a long time.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i took forever to finish this because honestly it was really hard to create an ending. because pain like this doesn’t really end, you just find ways to overcome it. i hope you enjoyed, and thank you for reading.


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